


"said I'll love you till the day that I die."

by phanxlarry



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Smut, Brain Cancer, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Lung Cancer, M/M, Ouch., Top Harry, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, harry loves louis so fucking much, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis has cancer, louis lets his hair grow out, louis loves harry so fucking much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11235774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanxlarry/pseuds/phanxlarry
Summary: The tiny boy can’t eat or drink or remember almost anything anymore, spending every hour possible clutching Harry likes he’s scared of what will happen when he lets go.Harry spends every second with his eyes glued to the pretty boy, making note of every detail possible and biting back whimpers when he notices how sickly the boy’s eyes are.He just looks so ill, so worn, so in need of rest despite the fact that he sleeps a good twenty-hours per day. The worst part of it all is that Louis is still beautiful to Harry, so aesthetically enticing and physically magnetic that Harry will never be able to stop staring.But, neither of them truly want Harry to remember Louis like this.“Tomorrow…” Louis whispers, expression blank and head resting on Harry’s chest, ear pressed against his heart to listen to the rhythmic, calming beat. “You...twenty four, right?”Harry smiled softly, brushing Louis’ mess of wavy hair out of his eyes, bringing with it the strands sticking to his cheeks.





	"said I'll love you till the day that I die."

**Author's Note:**

> (the title is from the song Sunflower by Rex Orange County, one of my favorite singers.)  
> hi.
> 
> i'm really, really sorry for this, and I cried a good six times while writing this over a span of a week or so in between after-school sessions and weekends.
> 
> harry calls louis "angel" and "love" and "baby" and "pretty prince" a lot and everything is so fucking perfect in the beginning and writing each and every fourty-six pages of this in google docs broke my heart in a hundred different ways.  
>    
> this is nothing like the writing style of my other fics, whether they're the ones published on here or wattpad, but a much more mature work with proper grammar and an absence of cliches and weak/lazy writing, and something that I really devoted myself to the past few weeks and can actually be proud of.
> 
> i hope you enjoy and feel something (or, a lot of things) like I did.
> 
> (the italicized words at the beginning of most chapters are lyrics to Happy by nevershoutnever, which is also a huge inspiration for this fic.)

When Harry loves Louis and Louis loves Harry but love will never have nearly the physical strength to even compete with a brain-devouring illness.

 

\---------------

_ You make me happy. _

 

It starts on a rainy sunday, which, Louis hates, because, what a fucking cliche.

 

Even worse is that it’s ironic, really, given the events that happen the same day the actual symptoms show up.

 

Louis hates cliches.

 

Louis hates irony.

 

But, fuck, he really loves Harry.

 

He’s practically galloping down the stairs, giggling and yelling Harry’s name in protest and laughing harder and harder to the point of hiccups because Harry’s begged him to hold onto the railing for the billionth time, because he just  _ has  _ to be so fucking careful all the time.

 

He’s clutching the soccer ball through the entire sprint, hiccuping now but still giggling, too distracted to pay any attention to his footing as he races down the stairs in Harry’s socks and hoodie.

 

And then he’s slipping, tumbling down a flight and a half of the remaining stairs with a string of profanities that would’ve made his mother faint, Harry’s footsteps growing louder and faster by the second.

 

He has slammed his temple into the edge of the railing at some point during the fall and it has him clutching his entire head, curled into a ball and rolling around at the landing, tears soaking his cheeks.

 

Harry is on his knees beside him in less than a minute, one hand rubbing his back reassuringly, the other brushing his hair off of his forehead. He keeps repeating Louis’ name over and over, but Louis can’t concentrate on anything except that pain that feels like it’s spreading and shoving itself tightly against every inch of his skull.

 

The curly haired boy isn’t sure what to do, isn’t sure if he should call 911, isn’t sure whether or not Louis can even hear him.

 

And then Louis is pleading, “Fuck, Haz, ice,” and Harry is nodding obediently, sprinting into the kitchen and racing back with an ice pack and roll of paper towels.

 

And, really, Louis seems okay by the time Harry has him carried to the nearest bedroom. He seems like he’ll probably wake up for a headache for the next few days, but also like he’d be well enough for promo around city for the rest of the week.

 

But, Harry doesn’t want to think about work right now.

 

He wants to think about how cozy his baby feels cuddled against him, how soft the feathery hair tucked under his chin is, how precious the soft snores of the older boy sound in the otherwise absolute serenity of the room. 

 

Harry tugs the smaller boy closer against him, straining his eyes to make sure the duvet covers Louis’ little feet, so he won’t wake up cold and upset.

 

The issue is that Louis still does wake up cold and upset, but for entirely different, unknown reasons, and he’s rushing to the bathroom toilet, feeling dizzy as soon as his socks touch the carpet under their bed.

 

A sleepy, concerned Harry stumbles in within five minutes, rubbing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of his pretty boy emptying his stomach into the master bathroom’s toilet.

 

“Love?”

 

Louis would like to respond, but, he’s a bit busy at the moment.

 

He retches again, clutching the bowl with white knuckles, shivering and dizzy and shaking and unsure how to stabilize his breathing.

 

“Baby,” Harry mumbles, dropping onto his knees beside the boy, one hand on his back, just like earlier. “Baby, wh-”

 

Louis gags once more, tears streaming down his face yet again, because he hates hates  _ hates  _ puking, hates the way it makes him feel and the way his mouth tastes and the sight of anything gross, and he especially hates that Harry had to sit there and watch him sober.

 

“Something’s really wrong, Haz,” He sobs, wiping his mouth on a hand-towel the sweet boy had handed him.

 

Harry nods understandingly, leaning in to kiss the pitiful boy’s forehead, one hand cupping either side of his face firmly as a reassurance.

 

“I know, Lou, I know. I’ll take you to the hospital as soon as you’re ready to go,” He offers, pulling away and brushing the fringe out of the boy’s pale-blue eyes.

 

 

“You hate hospitals,” Louis protests, sniffling, head pain once again apparent and throbbing and fuck, fuck, _ fuck _ .

 

“But I love you, angel.” 

\---

_ And now I'll take a step back _

_ And look in your eye _

 

Louis is discharged just before the sun has started to rise, with only a laminated bracelet and advisory to get some rest and take lots of ibuprofen. 

 

Harry’s sleepy and swollen-eyed and a bit under the weather, but he’s relieved, because his baby was assured that he was only suffering a concussion.

 

A bit of a severe concussion, but, nonetheless, he’d be “fine.”

 

Harry instinctively pulls Louis’ hoodie over his head as they exit the hospital, even though they’re technically on a hiatus, because he knows the last thing either of them need right now are bright flashes and mobbing.

 

The younger boy helps Louis into the SUV, like the gentleman he is, before climbing into the driver’s seat, glancing at the shorter boy every few seconds because, fuck, he’ll never stop worrying about him, even over stupid shit and the unlikeliest scenarios.

 

Louis is quiet for nearly the entire drive home, half-conscious and out of it and, just, so fucking exhausted.

 

“Harry?”

 

The curly haired boy glanced over quickly, surprised that the older boy was still awake.

 

“Yeah? What’s up, baby?”

 

Louis sniffled once, twice, and then shrugged, fidgeting with the soft sleeves that went past his fists.

 

“Dunno. Was just thinking about how thankful I am for you, and, y’know, gay shit like that.”

 

Harry chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he parked the Range Rover in their garage, engine dinging stopping abruptly until the only sound was silence and the two’s breathing.

 

Calm.

 

Silent.

 

_ Serenity _ .

 

Louis lived for it.

 

Harry knew that.

 

“I love you too, dork,” Harry smiled, leaning over the the center console to press a quick kiss against the temple of the clearly exhausted boy. Louis smiled, fumbling with his phone to aim the bright screen on Harry, wanting to see the boy’s grin.

 

Christ.

 

What a beauty that curly-haired angel was.

 

Harry’s takes a lot more precautions on the journey back up the stairs, arms hooked under the boy’s thighs, Louis’ open legs against Harry’s torso.

 

Louis is still giggling this time, though, because he’ll always think Harry is so silly and adorable and such a fucking gem. He keeps his forehead against the taller boy’s curls the entire walk, smiley and dazed, completely distracted from his headache.

 

He’s dropped onto the bed as if he were a bag of feathers, and he’s giggling like a maniac when Harry repositions himself between his thighs, mouthing from his jawline to his collarbones while trying not to smile.

 

“Baby,” Louis laughs, hands loosely clutching the back of the younger boy’s head. “C’mon.”

 

And then Harry’s giggling at himself - that Harry chuckle. With the slightly high-pitched happy noises and his eyes squeezed shut and that “heh-ha-haha-ha,” insanely british, trade-marked Harry chuckle, trying his hardest not to throw his head back out of habit.

 

It’s such a normal laugh, but, it’s so, like,  _ Harry _ . And that will always make Louis so so happy.

 

He allows himself to tumble onto his side in his laughing fit, Louis turning over too, because, well, Harry wasn’t really in the best position to do that, so now Louis’ left leg is trapped under Harry’s knee. But, Louis doesn’t mind, at all, because what a beautiful sight he’s had the honor of catching.

 

Harry reaches over without thinking, one hand gently cupping the pretty boy’s cheek, the softest smile taking over his dazed expression as he mumbles, “I really can’t believe how much I love you.”

 

Louis nods understandingly, sniffling because he’s gross and has these awful allergies that like to ruin every precious moment in his life.

 

“S’always gonna be mutual, love.”

 

They fall asleep like that. 

 

Well, Harry falls asleep with his hand resting on the boy’s cheek, and Louis tucks himself comfortably against the exhausted boy with a smile before letting his own eyelids droop. 

\-----

_ The more I wish _

_ That we could lie here for hours _

 

Louis wakes up first, Harry’s muffled snores still audible, though his face is buried deep into their unnecessarily overpriced pillow.

 

Harry had assured Louis it was a necessary purchase, said, “Need something valuable for you to bury your face in when I have you down on all fours,” and Louis had responded by slamming it into his shoulder with a grin. That obviously called for Louis being tackled onto the bed and tickled until he apologized and kissed it better, but he wasn’t complaining.

 

He smiled to himself, remembering how patient and kind Harry had been the night before, leaning in to brush away curls off the side of the boy’s temple, planting a kiss in their place before leaving.

 

Harry’s subconscious felt the removal of his heat generator, and he was sitting up in seconds, frowning when he realized pretty boy wasn’t cuddled against him.

 

“Love?”

 

Harry’s voice is sleepy and raspy and hot as hell, and, fuck, Louis hasn’t gotten off in ages.

 

But, no matter how badly he wanted Harry to throw him back on the bed and make him pant his name, he felt too nauseous for anything other than being lazy.

 

“G’morning, baby,” Louis sighed, deciding he could piss after he was more woken up. 

 

Harry smiled softly at the sight of the shapely boy, looking over his wrinkled joggers and thin black sweater, grinning at the reminder of how tiny Louis’ feet were in his socks.

 

He fell back onto the bed with a sigh of relief, holding his arms open, corners of his mouth tilted upwards as he stared at Louis.

 

Louis climbed on top of the boy with an eyeroll, hugging his chest tightly when Harry’s large palms instinctively began rubbing his back.

 

“I’ve got something to do around town with El today,” Louis mumbled, headache still apparent, but much less severe. “Couple paps and shit for a walk. The usual.”

 

Harry sighed heavily, eyes flicking up to their shared calendar, a constant reminder that this break was anything but a break.

 

“I know, love. S’okay,” Harry assured him, kissing the top of his soft, frazzled hair. “I won’t be back from the studio till later this afternoon, anyways.”

 

Louis forced himself into a sitting position, eyes squeezed shut and nausea crawling from just below his ribs up to his throat.

 

“I don’t wanna go, Haz,” He whined, pouting. “I feel so fucking awful right now. Christ. S’like a hangover to the power of ten.”

 

Harry chuckled lightly at Louis’ comment, rubbing his palm over the boy’s warm bottoms reassuringly, a slight smile present. Louis only shook his head, still frowning.

 

“What do you say I carry you downstairs, set you on the counter, find you some medicine, and then have you drown it with some of your favorite soup?”

 

Louis shrugged sleepily, trying not to smile.

 

“Dunno. Rumor has it you’re a culinary king, so that offer is kinda difficult to pass up.”

 

Harry sat himself up with a laugh without ever letting go of Louis, hooking his arms underneath the boy as he had last night, trotting down the stairs with the giggling boy safe and sound.

 

He set him down on the marble countertop, as promised, one kiss to the nose before hurrying over to the medicine cabinet.

 

Louis watches the boy in awe for the next half-hour, smiling and talking nonchalantly the whole time, trying to pretend he wasn’t taking in every feature of the angelic presence like it’s the first time he’d ever see him.

 

Fuck.

 

Louis really loves Harry.

\--------

_ It's for you for you _

_ For you _

 

The next month and a half go by in the blink of an eye.

 

But, maybe, that’s because Louis’ memory, and perception of time, has been crazy iffy lately. Hours feel like half-hours, minutes feel like mere seconds, and, Harry, well, Harry is thankfully a constant he’s never confused about, somehow.

 

“Love?”

 

Louis’ eyes flick open, and it takes him a bit to remember where he is, but he realizes that his head is pillowed by his beautiful boy’s milky thighs, and he’s back to smiles not long after.

 

It’s weird, though.

 

He doesn’t remember falling, or being, asleep. But, he definitely wasn’t conscious for, uh, how long?

 

This is a perfect example of how Louis’ memory has been tripping.

 

“Mhm?”

 

Louis’ trying to remain nonchalant, trying to pretend he didn’t just lose an unspecified amount of time.

 

Harry noticed, because, well, Harry notices everything about Louis. He knows Louis way better than he even knows himself, but that’s despite the fact that he feels like he’s learning new things about the pretty boy everyday, even after all these years.

 

“Hungry yet? I know you said you weren’t, but that was before you fell asleep, and-”

 

Louis furrowed his eyebrows in concern, because he couldn’t even remember telling Harry he wasn’t hungry. True, he hadn’t been hungry in a few days, but just because he’s a bit under the weather, doesn’t mean he should be forgetting so many things.

 

“Haz, how long was I out?” 

 

Harry shrugs nonchalantly, not really concerned about the worry in Louis’ voice, assuming he just wasn’t fully awake yet. “Nearly four hours, baby,” Harry nods, pins and needles scrubbing the bottom of his foot as it tries to wake itself up, suddenly able to move again.

 

“Christ. Harry, I-”

 

Louis jerks himself up suddenly, vomit climbing up his stomach and, fuck, he’s doubling over on the couch, stomach clenched and eyes screwed shut. Harry strokes the top of Louis’ silky mop, frowning to himself.

 

Harry hates seeing Louis ill, and he’s been quite sick since the same week he was burdened with his concussion. It had been, like, over six weeks, and Louis didn’t seem to be doing any better on any prescribed antibiotics.

 

He was supposed to be releasing a new single and photoshoot soon, but he kept rescheduling everything because he just had so much trouble even forcing himself out of bed.

 

Harry just wanted to make his angel feel better, and he promised over and over that he was trying his hardest, and Louis was patient and understanding and everything, but, fuck, Harry felt so useless sometimes.

 

“Gonna - fuck, Hazza.”

 

Louis eyes are glassy when he looks back at Harry, because, Christ, he hates puking and feeling weak and being such a fucking hassle to take care of. He never feels like a burden, per say, because Harry’s too kind to allow that to happen, but he definitely doesn’t feel good about having to be looked after.

 

And, so, he forces himself off the couch, pats Harry’s knee reassuringly when he instinctively goes to follow. 

 

Harry looks like a puppy when he understands that Louis doesn’t want him to come, and Louis is smiling softly, “S’nothing against you, angel. You’re doing everything right,” one kiss to the curly haired boy’s forehead before padding away on the polished linoleum.

 

Harry understands the boy needs his space, but, fuck, he wishes he could spend every second of his entire life following around Louis, making sure he’s safe and warm and happy. And, y’know, admiring how pretty he is.

 

He focuses his attention back to the sitcom playing quietly, as he hadn’t wanted to disturb Louis, grabbing around randomly in search of the volume remote.

 

As soon as it’s in his grasp, though, there’s a loud thud onto the floor from the direction Louis was headed, and he’s on his feet and racing to find him with his heart in his throat.

 

He’s the middle of the floor, silent and still, and Harry’s tears are brimming in seconds.

\-------------

_ On the good the bad the ugly _

_ The smiles the laughs the funny _

 

The hospital pokes and prods and interrogates and patronizes and tests the pretty, frightened boy with the pale blue eyes and feathery hair in every way possible.

 

Harry’s in close proximity the entire night, but, Louis can’t pretend he’s not worried. His fever has hardly gone down since the fall and he’s having trouble remembering most of the past few days, and, fuck, he feels so bad for how Harry must be coping with all of this.

 

The doctors and nurses explain that the MRI and CT and CAT scans and dozen of other results won’t return for a few more days, and, Harry’s instructed to take Louis home, to watch him closely the next few days and call if he has any doubts about anything else that happens before they return to the hospital.

 

Louis goes home with a new hospital bracelet and two additional prescriptions to pick up, breath ragged and nerves wracked the entire time they’re sneaking out of the hospital, praying they avoid paps and fans again somehow.

 

They manage.

 

Harry carries Louis back up the stairs as he had all those weeks ago, much more carefully this time. Louis is a sniffling mess on the bed as soon as Harry puts him down.

 

Fuck.

 

He feels so terrible for making Harry go through all of that.

 

“I love you so much and I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me and I’m sorry-”

 

Louis is talking at the speed of light, sleeves tugged over his fists, eyes focusing anywhere but Harry, ranting and sobbing a bit.

 

“Lou, oh my gosh, don’t even-”

 

He collapses against the taller, stronger, curly-haired boy who is always his rock. Whimpering, “There’s something really wrong with me, Harry, and I can’t keep trying to be positive about it. I’m so fucking scared. If you could’ve felt the way those doctors looked at me,  _ fuck- _ ”

 

And, Harry’s clutching Louis even tighter than the older boy his holding him. He runs his hand over his back quickly and a few times before grabbing the boy’s shoulder, firmly clutching the flesh and, just,  _ holding _ him.

 

Like, really holding him.

 

Louis is shaking and crying and sniffling into Harry’s shoulder for a good twenty minutes, Harry hushing him everytime he tries to whimper something pathetic.

 

“Angel,” Harry whispers, finally, feeling Louis’ rapid shaking against him begin to slow down a bit. 

 

“I love you so much I feel like imploding sometimes. Whatever is wrong with you, I’m gonna be here until it goes away.”

 

Louis pulls away, suddenly feeling gross and sappy and dramatic and, fuck, he kinda wants to curl into a ball and scream for a bit in the middle of a field, but he’d prefer to sit here and stare at Harry and laugh at himself until he feels better.

 

“Dunno what’s wrong with me,” Louis shrugs again, wiping a trail of water across the side of his forefinger. “Don’t really wanna say what the symptoms point to. Don’t wanna jinx it-”

 

Harry enclosed both of the boy’s smaller hands between his bigger ones, protectively, a silent reassurance.

 

“ _ Lou _ .”

 

Louis understood how he must sound by the way Harry narrowed his eyes, understood exactly what Harry was too kind to say. He waved his hand apologetically, breathing in deep once, forcing a smile.

 

“Yeah. Shit. You’re right,” Louis nodded, and, the corners of his mouth genuinely turned up a bit, like he might actually believe himself.

 

“I’m just sleepy and delusional. Being paranoid, is all. Just need you to cuddle me and reassure me, like you always do, yeah?”

 

Harry grins happily, because he loves feeling wanted or needed, and Louis always makes him feel like both. And, it might be a bit messed up, but he kinda enjoys knowing Louis will always need him for small stuff like this, no matter what.

 

He wraps the boy in his arms, tackling him playfully so they both fell onto their side, Harry’s palms gently clutching the smaller boy’s tattooed forearms, planting kisses all along the side of his neck and nape of his ear and spooning him, snug.

 

All the while, Louis is giggling like a madman and reaching for Harry’s curls, trying to tug at them and make him stop.

 

And, fuck, Harry really loves Louis.

\-------------

_ Knowing you are the one that I want _

_ For the rest of my days _

_ For the rest of my days _

 

It’s a Wednesday and it’s sunny and Louis’ is happy and finishing a pap walk and smiling at his phone because, fuck, Harry’s being so cute right now through texts.

 

It’s a Wednesday and Louis’ smile starts to fade a bit and he feels his grip loosening on his phone. He’s slowing in his tracks until he’s halted completely, confused as to why his finger muscles are being piloted by some invisible, arch nemesis.

 

It’s a Wednesday and the pavement is hot when Louis collapses suddenly against it, phone shattering atop the dry cement as Eleanor and bodyguards and photographers and fans swarm around him, perplexed and terrified.

 

It’s a Wednesday and it’s sunny when Harry races to the hospital, camera flashes blinding him as two bodyguards escort him inside. Their faces are grim and his baby is nowhere to be seen.

 

It’s a Wednesday and Harry’s forgotten how to swallow when he sees his angel sitting up in his hospital bed, large white patch over his forehead and eyes glossy. He opens his mouth to speak at the sight of Harry, but nothing comes out.

 

He’s in a hospital gown and there’s an IV taped into his wrist and he’s just, like, helpless and lonely. And it’s the saddest sight Harry has ever stumbled upon.

 

Harry’s hurrying over, fingernails digging into his palm, anxiety at an all time high. As soon as he has engulfed Louis’ tiny hand with his larger one, he watches a heavy tear slip out of the corner of his eye, sliding down his face slowly and absolutely destroying Harry’s heart.

 

“S’not my allergies,” Louis mumbles, his voice is nearly a whisper but he’s really trying to crack a joke at a time like this, because, fuck, he just wants Harry to feel a little bit more okay.

 

Harry nods, using his free hand to wipe his face, as if there was something sticking to it and suffocating him. He blows air out his nose weakly, using all his strength to force a smile because he knows it’s equivalent to mild validation and he knows it will make Louis feel a little bit more okay.

 

“Stage three something of-”

 

And, that’s all Harry needs to hear, all Harry can hear for now, because, fuck, that confirms what they were both too terrified to audibly consider. 

 

Louis has  _ cancer _ .

 

And, Harry’s trying to respond, but his vocal chords are being gripped with the strength of Hercules, tugging down into his chest, absolutely merciless. 

 

He can’t even cry, can hardly breathe, really. His hands are shaking and his eyes literally burn with tears, but he can’t move and can’t react and can’t, can’t, cannot fucking  _ help Louis _ ; and that’s the worst feeling of all. 

 

Can’t fucking save his baby from  _ cancer _ , no matter what he does or who he charms or fights or pays. Louis is  _ dying.  _ The light of his fucking universe is currently on track to dissipate completely into a hollow shell of nothingness.

 

It’s specifically Nasopharyngeal Carcinoma, but, fuck, that excessively long phrase doesn’t effect anyone nearly as much as the word  _ cancer _ , which is what all the doctors and nurses are too terrified to say to a worldwide popstar. 

 

_ “Hey, yeah, Louis Tomlinson? With the net worth of millions? Hundreds of thousands of girls who would give their life for you? A loving fiancee and a solo album debuting soon and hundreds of responsibilities and over sixty years of life that you’re supposed to have left? Yeah, you’re dying of cancer!” _

 

“It’s too sudden,” Louis whimpers, shaking his head. “I wasn’t fucking ready for them to tell me-”

 

And, whatever string within him was holding Harry’s pieces together, snaps after hearing the pathetic voice cracks caused by the sobs begging to spill out of Louis’ throat as he speaks. His angel is so fucking broken, and he can’t just hold him and reassure him and love him and teach him to make it go away.

 

Louis’ already vomited twice since being diagnosed, so he watches Harry with so much admiration and love as he stands there, strong. Always so fucking _ strong _ for him, and Louis is so god damn grateful for that boy.

 

“We-we can afford treatment,” Harry assures him, trying his hardest to remain composed, blinking away the few stray tears that are too heavy to hide. “There’s surgery and chemo and radi-”

 

And Louis is visibly shaking, like when you walk into the snow with only a windbreaker and jeans. 

 

His chin is trembling as he tries to bite back the tears, because it’s an embarrassing and distracting twitch he could never grow out of, and he feels the water raining from his eyes and his chest feels like there’s an absence of gravity and, fuck,  _ this is the hardest thing he’s ever going to say _ .

 

“Don’t want it, Haz. I’m so far gone that remission is a fantasy land and any kind of expensive medication will only drain all our money and, like, procrastinate the inevitable.”

 

Louis shakes his head guiltily before continuing, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling the liquid drip from his eyelashes to his cheekbones.

 

“And, I love you, love you so fucking much that I’m still not sure I won’t implode someday from the amount of love I have for you - you and the ten thousand people that you are, Haz. But, that’s why I don’t want treatment. Because I want to love you with all of me for as long as possible, want you to know me as long as possible. Don’t want the medicated, poked and prodded daily Louis, where you’re always anxious and stressed and I’m always asleep or puking.”

 

Harry nods understandingly, because it’s clear this isn’t up for debate, but it still hurts so much that Harry can feel his stomach intestines tying themselves in various knots and squeezing the contents together and threatening to send him heaving over the toilet bowl. It hurts him that bad to hear what Louis is saying.

 

But he’s  _ so _ proud that his baby is strong enough to even say it.

 

“Don’t want to be the next science experiment, or constantly questioning what’s reality and what’s imagination because I’m in a coma from a surgery fuckup that wasn’t even worth the risk in the first place.  Just want to be with you and do silly things and wake up cuddled on your chest and remember and experience everything I possibly can with you for as long as I can. Just want you, Harry. And I understand if you don’t-”

 

Harry’s quickly shaking his head, confidently, leaning in and pressing his lips against the boy’s temple and his eyes are squeezed shut and his hands are shaking at just the thought of Louis’ insecure suggestion. “Don’t ever, ever consider that I wouldn’t want to be with you for any fucking reason. You are the light of my life and I will love you and assure you of that until I watch you flicker out myself, angel.”

 

Louis starts shaking even more violently, letting his sobs tumble out, face pressed against Harry’s shoulder blade. He’s clutching the boy like he’s the only thing he’s ever known, sniffling and knuckles white and his head aches from all the crying and his eyes burn and he’s  _ so fucking exhausted, _ but he  _ needs _ to hold onto Harry right now.

 

And, Harry’s still standing, though his legs have definitely evaporated into nonexistence, and he’s just, kind of, hovering there, or something. He can’t feel them.

 

Can’t feel anything, at the moment, besides Louis thin fingers underneath his palm and the way boy’s dainty wrist is shaking violently. He can also feel his heart in his throat, but he tries to pretend he can’t when he inhales shaky breathes, hardly sure how to fucking breathe at this point.

 

Harry wasn’t sure how to do anything anymore if he couldn’t protect Louis. That was one of the only things he’d known to be permanent for the past seven years.

 

_ Guess you don’t really know anything _ , Harry thinks.

 

Fuck.

 

Guess the highlight of his entire existence was going to die, and there’s nothing he could do but sit there and hold him and let it happen. 

\--------------

_ We should be happy. _

 

Louis is home alone for the first time since his diagnosis, empty house and large glass of hot tea, eyes glued to the ceiling. Everything is so hard now.   
  


He inhales a shaky breathe, throat sore and cluster headache apparent and, fuck, he just wants Harry’s arms around him for a few more hours. But, he’s gone off on mandatory promo for a few days, and Louis understands, truly.

 

Harry is one of the most famous people in the world, and Louis is insanely happy for him. He’s just released his solo album, the fans are going crazy for him, and his baby is feeling so fucking happy and validated.

 

He just misses him, even more than usual.

 

It’s quite lonely. 

 

Plus, y’know, he’s dying. And, that’s not very great. And he wants to spend as much time with that absolute dork of a green-eyed boy as possible.

 

He’s feeling chilly and shaky and nauseous and overwhelmingly sad at the moment.

 

And, if he reads one more rumor about himself on Dailymail or the Sun, he’ll probably explode. 

 

He’s fucking exhausted.

 

He rings Zayn, sniffling, free hand tightly clutching the teacup, eyes watching the liquid forming quick waves, thanks to his inability to control his shaking hand. It makes him feel awful and useless that he has trouble with stupid things like his grip and commanding his body to do basic things, and it’s only been getting worse lately.

 

But what can you do?

 

Zayn answers on the second ring, Gigi’s giggles dying down in the background, her boyfriend’s voice assumedly more serious than before when he speaks into the receiver, “Hey, Lou, what’s up?”. Louis frowns. 

 

He just wants everyone to stop pitying him.

 

“S’nothing,” Louis assures him, forefinger tapping rapidly against just below the rim of the cup, liquid waves crashing over each other faster and faster.

 

“Just miss you a bit. Wanted to know how you were.”

 

He can hear Zayn’s smile in his response, and he feels the corners of his mouth turning up softly at the sound.

 

“I’m well, Lou. Gigi, too. I miss you more, I think - but not as much as Harry, I’m sure.”

 

Louis sits up, placing the barely touched cup on the glass table across from him, feet being engulfed by the fluffy white rug. 

 

“Are you busy, Zayn? I don’t mean to-”

 

Zayn’s voice is full of excitement when he responds, and Louis feels a lot less awkward.   
  


“Not at all! Christ, I was wondering when you were planning on inviting us over for some Fifa, you cunt,” He laughs, and Louis wonders what his girlfriend must think of their friendship. “Be there in an hour?”

 

Louis grinning into the phone, “Yeah, please. I’ve been in the same pajamas since Harry left, so, don’t worry about getting dressed or anything.” He and his best friend joke around for a few more minutes before the older boy hangs up, still smiling.

 

Zayn is at his door within an hour, as promised, carrier of Strawberry shakes in one hand, Gigi’s fingers intertwining the other. Louis is  _ so _ happy for them.

 

And what a fucking iconic power couple, right?

 

They spend the day exactly like they used to, and Louis is crazy grateful for that. Zayn sits beside him on the couch, jerking the control every few minutes because he’s so into the game, swearing like a sailor and teasing each other and the place is a mess of giggles and curse words and banter for hours.

 

Eventually, as much as he tries to fight it, Louis is too exhausted to stay awake and using Zayn’s thighs as a pillow, rambling about Harry as he tries to keep his eyes open and Zayn and Gigi tease him about being such a fucking sap.

 

The last thing Louis remember before dozing off is his best friend giggling, “I miss Harry too, babes,” and himself thinking about how Zayn didn’t even know the half of it.

\--------

_ The more I think _

_ The more I wish _

_ That we could lie here for hours _

_ And just-a, reminisce _

 

Harry’s home and safe and patient as usual and everything feels okay. Louis is still dying, and resisting treatment, but, they’re together. And they’re themselves. And they’re as happy as they could be, given the circumstances.

 

Harry likes spending days in their sunroom, arms wrapped around his sweet boy, though his frail body is losing weight by the day because he’s just  _ so _ nauseous all the time, way too nauseous to force meals down.

 

He likes holding him tight against his chest, burying his face in his hair because it always smells like cotton sheets, somehow.

 

He likes when Louis drifts off to sleep after swearing he’ll stay awake so they can be together in serenity  like old times, mostly because of the soft  _ hums _ that slip out of Louis throat whenever either of them reposition themselves. 

 

They’re barely audible, but they’re still precious.

 

Harry watches the leaves on the trees and bushes shaking with the wind, he could stare for hours. He loves the dozens of shades of green that compliment all the others, but he doesn’t love them nearly as much as he does Louis.

 

Louis likes rainy days, though. Likes days where Harry lap blankets his aching head, when Harry massages his scalp and subconsciously fumbles with his hair throughout the cheesy movie they’re only half-watching.

 

Likes days where it’s just him and Harry in their pajamas and tousled hair, but it’s cozy and smiley and giggly and feels like a date.

 

Though, hardly anything is said, because it feels like every few days Louis’ throat is more and more sore.

 

Louis will never admit it, but, he likes it when Harry catches him staring up at him. Loves the way Harry’s cheeks go pink like it’s the first time and he leans over to leave the softest kiss on her forehead or the tip of his nose, even sometimes adding a brush of their lips.

 

But, he doesn’t love it nearly as much as he does Harry.

 

There’s days when everything is a lot more difficult than others, though.

 

The days where Louis wakes up and fear is clawing at his throat as he grabs at his jaw, hand shaking because he can’t feel his fucking tongue,  _ Harry.  _ Harry’s always there, just as frightened, but reassuring. 

 

Louis is usually calmed down and clinging to him within twenty minutes, exhausted again.

 

The days where he’ll just be mid, nonchalant convo when blood starts spilling out of his nose like a hose, and Louis won’t even notice until it reaches his bottom lip. He’ll shrug it off with a laugh while Harry helps him clean it up, but he’ll cup his mouth to quiet his sobbing as soon as Harry hurries off to throw away the soaked rags.

 

It’s embarrassing and pathetic and Louis hates it  _ so _ much, no matter how often Harry assures him those things aren’t true.

 

But, there’s good days, too.

 

Like, today, when Louis wakes Harry by climbing atop his abdomen, brushing his lips against the younger boy’s bottom one, grinning when he feels a barely-conscious smile form. And, Harry reaches his hand up to stroke the hair off of Louis temple and eyes, soft smile still present as he mumbles, “G’morning, angel.”

 

Louis voice is only a bit above a whisper when he nods, “Good morning, Hazza,” fringe slipping back over the corners of his eyes. Harry shakes his head with a slight smile, forming a scissor motion with his fingers, eyebrows raised.

 

“Nuhuh,” Louis replies firmly, because they’d been debating this all week. Harry really wants to trim Louis’ hair, but Louis  _ needs  _ it to grow out. “I love you, but, s’not your hair, baby. I need it to grow out.”

 

Harry pushes out his bottom lip in a pout, bringing his finger scissors up to the sides of Louis’ fringe, jokingly snipping.

 

He tries his best to communicate with actions as often as possible, because he knows it’s a pain for Louis to respond verbally.

 

Louis shakes his head again, gently grabbing Harry’s wrist, tugging the hand away from his hair with a grin. He drops it limp against Harry’s chest, and the younger boy wants to tackle him onto his back and tickle him into an apology, but the cheeky boy has just scooted down onto his morning wood with a smirk.

 

Harry groans, because, somehow, even when terminally ill, Louis still manages to be a fucking tease. Deep down, though, the curly-haired boy loves it.

 

And, truthfully, Louis is all kinds of horny today. Rubbing himself confidently against Harry’s member, hands planted on the boy’s tense abdomen, bottom lip pulled shyly under his front teeth with a flushed face as he pretends he isn’t grinding on his boyfriend’s dick.

 

“Lou-”

 

Louis shakes his head in protest, because he can see what Harry is about to say clear in his face, can hear it from just his tone of voice. He knows Harry loves him and knows how kind the boy is, but, fuck, he really needs to be touched like he used to be.

 

“Want you,” Louis whimpers, voice hardly above a whisper. “Need you, Haz. S’okay.”

 

And Harry nods in understanding, eyebrows furrowed in concern because he swears he can see the desperation in his angel’s face, can see it in the way he screws his eyes shut and throws his head back from the mild friction he’s currently forcing, can see it in the way he chews his bottom lip till it’s as red as the nail polish he used to paint onto their nails.

 

He can see how bad Louis needs it clear on the pretty boy’s face, and he’s never been one with the strength to _ really _ tell him no, anyways.

 

So, he tugs the hem of Louis shirt upwards, gently, and the smaller boy feels his heart jump before raising his arms obediently for Harry. The younger boy flips them, carefully, so that Louis is comfortable and safe underneath him - where he should be.

 

He’s clutching the waistline of Louis boxers so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and he quickly moves his lips to the boy’s neck for a distraction, unable to look at the way Louis’ hip bones jut against the skin and pretend everything is  _ okay _ .

 

And Louis lets his hands tangle in the larger boy’s curls, fumbling with the ringlets, eyelashes fluttering together repeatedly as Harry’s mouth makes it’s way down to his collarbones, open and wet and soft and plump-lipped.

 

He’s in Louis and thrusting a bit too hard but it’s okay because Louis needed this, needed this so badly that he’s whimpering and panting and tugging harshly at Harry’s hair in the first thirty seconds, trying not to dissociate.

 

Louis lets his hands lock around the back of Harry’s neck, gripping him with all the small amount of strength left inside him as Harry touches him like he used to, like  _ magic _ .

 

But, it’s over soon and Louis feels bad but he’s honestly too busy catching his breath to truly feel sorry for himself, Harry dropping onto the bed beside him, mouth parted and cheeks flushed.

 

“Love, love, love you so fucking much,” Harry whispers, reaching his hand up to brush the fringe out of the boy’s pale blue eyes. “It’s unbelievable, honestly.”

 

Louis just nods slowly, as he’s still coming down but able to relate. 

 

He playfully bites the boy’s thumb, making him giggle and yank his hand away. Harry’s grinning when he tucks his hand safely under his pillow, in disbelief that Louis is still such a fucking dork.

 

“Fucking goof,” Harry mumbles, dimples prominent. “Don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.”

 

Louis turns onto his side, so his face is closer to Harry’s lips before responding, “Just stay with me. That’s all I need you to do.” And, Harry nods confidently, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t mean for Louis to take it so seriously.

 

He pulls his hand out from under his pillow, placing it on the back of the Louis’ feathery mess of hair. Harry pushes the boy’s face closer to his, lips planted on his forehead, eyes squeezed shut because he just loves his baby so fucking much that he’s aching right now.

 

“Of course, angel,” He whispers, lips brushing against Louis skin with every formation of a different word. “Would never be able to leave. Never ever. Always and forever with you -  please don’t doubt that, love.”

 

And, Louis shaking and sniffling and burying his face in the younger boy’s bare chest, letting his tears wet his skin without apology. Because, Louis knows it’s only going to become harder than this, and he feels so awful that Harry keeps promising to stay and take care of him.

 

He feels even worse because the selfish in him is proud that the boy can’t leave. He’s glad the person he cares about the most is going to be there with him through it all, but heartbroken that he’s going to have to suffer through most moments.

 

“Just, l-love you,” Louis hiccups, clutching Harry with his dainty hands, holding onto him like if he lets go they’ll never see each other again. “I don’t think you realize how bad it’s going to-”

 

Harry shakes his head, blinking back tears and sniffling. “I do realize, Lou. And I’m here. Always.”

 

Louis cries himself to sleep while Harry rubs his back reassuringly, face still buried in Harry’s chest and throat aching every time he swallows his own spit and head throbbing. 

 

But it’s okay, because Harry is here, and, deep down, Louis is sure that he can count on that.

 

Always.

\-------------

_ To be the person you want _

_ The person you need _

 

Harry had received special permission countless times from the hospital that it was completely safe to take Louis on a plane, but he still kept his arm wrapped around the boy’s shoulder the entire flight, glancing over at his face every few seconds, paranoid.

 

Louis slept through the entirety of the flight, but Harry was still so so careful.

 

Harry had his sister transport his Range Rover to the airport, and she engulfed each of them in a tight hug in the parking lot, spinning them around separately before handing over the keys to her wide-eyed brother.

 

She didn’t know about what was really wrong with Louis.

 

No one at home did; that’s why they were back.

 

Harry flicked his eyes over to Louis, frowning, but the older boy just nodded his head with a thumbs up, forcing a smile before following Gemma to the car.

 

“Gems-”

 

Harry had been on the road for less than five minutes before he interrupted his older sister, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, checking on the frail boy who had happily sat in the back so Gemma could be beside her brother.

 

Louis quickly shook his head, eyes desperate and glossy and it was clear that he was silently pleading, “Not here, Harry.”

 

“Just, uh, missed you,” Harry smiled, quickly saving himself from upsetting Louis. “A ton, really. Missed you a ton, me and Louis both.”

 

Harry saw the softest smile appear on Louis’ face, and he felt okay, for just a few seconds. He lived for moments like this, lately.

 

“Aw,” Gemma cooed, grinning. “I missed you guys too, doofus.”

 

The smallest giggle slipped out of Louis’ mouth, and Harry felt warmth sliding up his abdomen, pure happiness to see his ray of sunshine beaming.

 

Yeah.

 

Harry’s glad they came home.

 

Dropping the news to Harry’s half of the family was a difficult two hours of tear-jerking conversation and Harry left wondering just how long he could procrastinate his own inevitable breakdown. 

 

By the time they’re at Louis’ house, it’s dark out and the older boy is so clearly exhausted when he knocks on the door, eye bags swollen and he’s sniffling and nauseous and definitely not feeling up for this.

 

“I’ve got you,” Harry whispers as they wait for someone to answer, draping his arm around the boy’s slim waist. “You’re okay, angel.”

 

Louis shakes his head and the tears brimming in his eyelids are practically burning, but it’s okay because Harry’s here and the rest of his family is here, too, and the worst part will be over soon.

 

But, he sniffles the crying away and focuses his attention on smiling and laughing loudly when the young twins wrap their arms around either of his legs, giggling and hopping up and down and radiating pure happiness.

 

Harry scoops one of them into his arms with a wide grin, bringing her up to Louis face so he can plant a big kiss on her cheek. Lottie and Fizzy and the older twins are hurrying over, too, Johannah trailing behind them and everyone’s smiley and laughing and happy and Louis  _ needed _ this.

 

It’s past midnight by the time everyone’s caught up with each other, for the most part, but they’re all still crowded around the visiting pair, finding a seat on whatever piece of furniture they can. They’re all sleepy and squinty-eyed, but, they’re still unbelievably happy.

 

Harry and Louis are in their natural position, with the younger boy’s thighs as a pillow for the back of Louis’ messy hair, their eyes flicking towards each other every few seconds because, truthfully, neither could ever get enough of the other. 

 

Ernest is sat sleepily atop Louis stomach, back against the couch cushion, eyes drooping every few seconds. Meanwhile, Doris is knocked a few feet away, slumped against Louis’ bony calves and drooling. Louis is living for this shit.

 

As the older members of the family let their laughter die down from a silly memory Louis and Harry had collaborated on explaining, Louis feels the prominence of his headache growing stronger, and Harry noticed from the way he suddenly flinches in his lap.

 

“M’okay,” Louis nods quietly, hand clutching Harry’s even tighter than before. Still, the younger boy knows that was a sign from the universe that it’s time to stop procrastinating.

 

Harry clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter, letting go of Louis hand when he feels the older boy wince from the stretching. Everyone in the room flicks their eyes up to Harry, suddenly, their grins dissipating into concerned looks simultaneously.

 

Christ.

 

It’s like breaking news to a room of literal female clones of Louis.

 

“Louis is, um, he’s sick,” Harry sighs, right hand placed atop Louis’ soft fringe. “Like, really sick. Worse than tonsillitis or pneumonia or-”

 

The questions are buzzing around them immediately, everyone’s voice full of worry as they all speak quickly, trying to process what Harry is saying.

 

_ For how long? How sick? Is he okay? What’s wrong with him? Is this why he has really been at the hospital so much? I thought you guys said it was pneumonia? When will he be better? Should we worry? Is he okay? Is he okay? Is he okay? Is he okay? Is he okay? Is he okay? _

 

For the first time since this mess of a diagnosis, Harry fell absolutely silent when Louis needed him the most. He just didn’t know how to say,  _ “Our favorite boy in the world won’t have a heartbeat by this time next year.” _

 

Louis absolutely understands that it’s his turn to be strong, for once.

 

“Like, past Stage 4A of Nasopharyngeal Carcinoma sick,” Louis cuts everyone off, and the room falls to a complete hush in the time it would take a pin to drop to the ground.

 

“No,” Johannah whispers, shaking her head quickly. “Louis, no, love, that’s not funny-”

 

Louis shrugs weakly, tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes.

 

“S’not a joke, mum.”

\--------------

_ It's hard to conceive _

_ That somebody like you _

_ Could be _

_ With someone like me _

 

Louis wakes up before Harry for the first time in ages. Harry is smiley for a second, thinking he could come downstairs to find his angel standing shirtless in his boxers, ruining their breakfast and humming to himself.

 

But, he hears Louis’ retching from the bathroom, and he remembers.

 

His quick moment of bliss is gone, taking with it his lately rare, comforting feeling of familiarity.

 

He’s practically sprinting to the bathroom out of habit, dragging their fleece throw-over with him, wrapping it around the frail boy’s shoulders as he hurls.

 

Louis is spitting up blood and what little meals he’s able to temporarily digest and then more blood, sobbing into the toilet bowl and letting the awful smell that fills his nostrils force him to hurl again.

 

It’s a vicious cycle.

 

Eventually, his body is completely empty of anything that could even consider climbing back up his throat, and he pulls away, wiping his mouth on a rag, unable to even look at Harry.

 

“M’fucking disgusting,” He whispers, shaking his head and pulling himself away from the warmth of Harry and his favorite blanket. “It’s getting worse and worse every-”

 

Harry quickly shakes his head, eyes stinging with tears - a new familiarity to him, lately.

 

“You’re not disgusting, angel. You’re my beautiful little Lou, you’ll always be-”

 

Louis would scream out of frustration if he had the strength, to be honest. He’s tired of being coddled and having Harry pretend that everything was peachy, and that he was still pretty with blood dripping down his chin and vomit stuck in the corners of his mouth. 

 

At the moment, he hated being spoken to and touched and even looked at. He just wanted to be away from Harry, as much as he disliked admitting that. 

 

He was exhausted and angry and sad and physically and mentally drained, in every way possible. And the worst part was that, for the first time, the last person he wanted to be near was Harry.

 

He was on his feet and walking away with a cold and distant, “Please don’t follow me.” Harry was left sobbing and confused on the bathroom floor, bathroom reeking of Louis’ stomach contents and empty of Louis’ warmth. 

 

Harry had been warned that cancer patients may start to push away those closest to them, and even though he knew Louis only had the best intentions in doing so, he was absolutely destroyed that it was happening to him.

 

He spent a good hour shaking and sobbing into his knees on the tiled floor, blanket tangled around him, absorbing his ocean of tears and eyes swollen. He hurt so, so, so much, and, he just wanted Louis.

 

All he wanted was to be able to hold Louis, and every second that past was a second closer to  his remaining lifetime where he wouldn’t be able to. 

 

Plus, Louis didn’t  _ want  _ him. His, “Please don’t follow me,” echoed loudly in Harry’s head. It was the one of the only phrases he never thought Louis would say to him.

 

Harry had never known a time in his life when Louis truly did not want him.

 

He just loves Louis so fucking much, and when he hears the loud thud tumbling down multiple stairs, he’s on his feet and running, despite Louis’ single plead.

 

Just because Louis was currently broken, didn’t mean the power of the universe wasn’t strong enough to constantly bring them back together.

\----------------

_ We're meant to be. _

 

Louis’ ankles had decided to temporarily try to control themselves like his wrists and hands had been doing more and more often lately, and the stairs couldn’t care less about his struggles.

 

He’s shaking and crying harder than he had been when he first woke up as he clutched Harry tightly, whimpering into the boy’s bare shoulder as he carried him back up the stairs.

 

“You’re okay,” Harry nodded, brushing the fringe away from the boy’s blotchy eyes, heart pounding. “Lou, baby, s’okay. I’ve got you.”

 

Louis was nodding and clutching him with all his strength until Harry gave in, laying down in the bed so he could cry against him. Louis had momentarily completely forgotten about what had happened in the bathroom a little over an hour ago, he only knew that Harry was his and promised to always be there and that he depended on him and loved him so fucking much.

 

Harry yanked a bag of cough drops out of the bedside drawer before collapsing completely beside Louis, brushing over his hair and reassuring him, like he always did.

 

Because, no matter what happened, Louis really fucking loved Harry and Harry really fucking loved Louis.

\------------

_ We should be happy _

_ That's what I said from the start _

 

The tumors - yes, plural, now - have spread to Louis’ brain, and they’ve been coping and adapting to this for nearly a month.

 

Louis can’t remember “simple” things, like where Harry left the syrup for the waffles ten minutes ago, or which shelf in which cupboard holds the bags of his favorite flavor of tea. He can’t remember simple tasks, either.

 

Like, the time Harry asked him to ring him when the oven had beeped, because he needed a shower, and, truthfully, a break. Louis had nodded, assuring him everything would be fine. Harry hurried downstairs after an insane amount of time had past, skeptical.

 

Louis had torn apart the living room searching for his phone, cushions scattered across the carpet and both reclining chairs upside down. The oven was smoking and Louis was on the floor, hugging his knees and clutching his head with tears on his cheeks. 

 

He’d forgotten where his phone was, was then hit with a headache halfway through his search, and when the stove started going wild and the migraine grew worse it all became too much and he was  _ so sorry, Haz. _

 

Harry understood how overwhelmed he was, and calmly sat behind him on the carpet, tugging him in between his legs and rocking him back and forth as he tightly held onto the older boy’s stomach, Louis’ hands atop his and shaking.

 

Harry just hushed him every time his sobbing grew louder, ignoring the mess surrounding them and the smoke that found its’ way to the living room for as long as he could.

 

They were so deep in a pit of chaos and, for the first time, Harry selfishly became truly worried about if he’d be able to survive everything that was happening. Like, for the first time, he realized it really wasn’t as  _ okay  _ as he kept assuring Louis it was.

 

Journeying over the absolute mess of their living room and carrying Louis up slightly smoky stairs as the skinny boy sobbed against his t-shirt was the furthest thing from peachy.

 

Harry placed him gently onto the middle of their mattress, reaching over for the Advil P.M. so Louis could rest soundly without the pain of his throbbing head. 

 

The boy sat up with a frown, accepting the pills and water and sorrowful look from Harry, drowning it all before laying back down and feeling another tear slip out of the corner of his eyes at the sound of the few remaining pills clattering in the bottle when Harry set it back down.

 

“I love you,” Harry sniffled, walking back over to the bed with a pile of blankets on his arms. “So fucking much, angel.”

 

Harry tucked Louis under one cool sheet and two fleece throwovers, an excessively long kiss to the older boy’s forehead as he tried to keep himself from squeezing the brimming tears out of his eyes. Louis unexpectedly gathered the strength to wrap his arms tightly around Harry, nearly pulling the boy on top of him completely if Harry hadn’t caught himself.

 

“I love you so much more, Harry,” He whispered, forehead against the boy’s collarbones. “So much that it scares me. M’so grateful for you and everything you do and your unbelievable amount of patience.”

 

Harry nodded in understanding, unable to stop the water from slipping down his cheekbones. He brushed his hand down the back of the boy’s hair, which had grown in the back to the bottom of his neck and into slightly noticeable wavy ringlets on the sides. 

 

Harry would never understand how it remained so soft and smelled so fresh, regardless of how long it had been since his last shower.

 

“I know, love,” Harry assured him, straining his neck to kiss the older boy’s rosy cheek. “I know. Now get some rest, baby.”

 

Harry didn’t want the conversation or the warm embrace to end, but he also didn’t want Louis to feel guilty if he saw him crying. He didn’t want Louis to feel bad for anything, because it wasn’t his fault, and he was already dealing with enough.

 

He just wanted Louis to stay a little bit longer, is all.

\---------------

Louis’ body is deteriorating at a rapid rate and he’s been hospitalized for seizures twice, terrifying episodes that Harry was hardly able to cope with, even weeks after either of them happened.

 

Harry has never been so scared in his life.

 

It happened to be Christmas Eve, though, and Louis has been as okay as he could possibly be, ,given the circumstances, for four consecutive days. Harry can tell he’s trying his hardest, and he is so fucking proud of his angel.

 

“Lou.”

 

A weak hum slips out of Louis’ throat in response, head still buried deep in their expensive pillow as he scooted his back closer against Harry. The younger boy smiled to himself.

 

“Lou, baby-”   
  


Louis groaned loudly and unintentionally and pathetically, clutching his head and turning towards Harry in fear, eyes screwed shut. Harry only knew to wrap his arms tightly around the fragile boy, kissing over his fringe repeatedly as he constantly reminded himself to breathe.

 

“M’sorry,” Louis whimpered, biting into the crew neck of Harry’s white tee and shaking. “M’so sorry, Haz, it just hurts so-”

 

Harry hushed him, assuring him he had nothing to apologize for, rubbing circles over his spine with the hand that wasn’t clutching the back of his head. He could feel the sticky tears coating his collarbones, and he felt so awful for Louis.

 

The intruding pain eventually subsided and left a swollen eyed Louis alone for a bit, allowing him to pull away and stare up at Harry innocently, pale blue eyes wide and curious. Harry couldn’t help but grin.

 

“Happy birthday, pretty prince.”

 

Louis bit into his bottom lip, cheeks heating to crimson on his other flushed face, feeling the good kind of nausea in his stomach or the first time in way too long. He nodded, bringing his lips to Harry’s neck and pressing them gently against his skin. 

 

“Love bites?” Harry questioned, slightly startled when he felt the boy’s teeth on his neck. He giggled slightly, smiling, “S’not my birthday, love.”

 

Louis didn’t know how to say,  _ “But I’m scared I won’t be around anymore when it actually is _ ,” so, he just continued using his strength to mark the younger boy’s neck. 

 

Obviously, Harry wasn’t complaining.

 

Louis placed soft, wet kisses over the three, four, five new spots he’d created, smiling shyly up at Harry after admiring his own work. He was _ so _ proud of himself.

 

“Your turn, yeah?” Harry quizzed, look over Louis’ pretty face like it was the first time he’d ever seen it. Louis nodded eagerly, pressing his lips softly against the younger boy’s before Harry turned him onto his back. 

 

Harry knew Louis bruised much more easily now, so every hickey was full of care and love and gentleness.

 

Every new mark also came with a soft moan from Louis, and that was the best part, really. Harry left bruises scattered all the way down the older boy’s neck, and he kept trailing quick kisses even past his collarbones.

 

He slowly lifted Louis’ shirt up to just below his visible rips, kissing and mouthing at the boy’s stomach until he giggled and pleaded, “Hazza, stop.” He continued until he was blessed with the adorable sound of Louis’ hiccups, unable to fight a grin before bringing his lips back up to his boyfriend’s.

 

“M’gonna ring the boys and let them know they can come over, okay?” Harry smiled, still hovering over the boy, one arm holding all his weight and the other cradling Louis’ cheek. 

 

Louis slowly shook his head, eyes desperate and mouth parted, slightly frowning. Harry stared at him for a really long time, unsure.

 

Harry knew exactly what he was asking for without the boy needing to say a thing.

 

“Haz, please,” Louis choked out, palm going to his member and jaw clenched and boxers way too tight. “One more-”

 

And Harry can’t bear to hear him say, “ _ Make love to me one more time _ ,” so, he cuts him off with his lips quickly, nodding obediently. He can feel tears brimming in his eyes and doesn’t even bother finding a condom, because he knows if he has the chance to reconsider he’ll choose what is best for the boy’s health and disappoint Louis on his birthday.

 

On what is most definitely his last birthday, really.

 

For the first time in ages, they fuck slowly and the way they always should have. The way that they didn’t know they were missing out on, the way they thought they had so much more time to experience.

 

Harry’s eyes are locked on Louis’ own, top teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he tries to adapt to how tight Louis has become over the past few months. 

 

Louis arms are clutching the back of Harry’s neck tightly, holding him up as Harry thrusts into him a bit too leisurely, the bed hardly hitting the wall as they focus on trying to take in every detail of the other’s facial expressions like it’s the last time, because it is the last time, and they both fucking know it.

 

And that’s such a heavy thing to deal with when you’re trying to cum, so Louis pleads and begs Harry through small phrases like, “Haz, please,” and, “Harry, I-I need it,” until Harry gives in, burying his face in the older boy’s neck and thrusting harder and faster until he feels Louis gasping for air and whimpering his name like old times.

 

Harry can feel himself crying lightly against the boy’s soft tee as he finishes, collapsing on top of the exhausted boy as he tries to understand whether these are happy or sad tears. Louis understand what’s happening, brushing over the back of Harry’s curls weakly, chin resting atop the younger boy’s head.

 

“S’okay,” Louis assures him, happy to be the strong one for the first time in months. “I’m okay, you’re okay-”

 

Harry nips slightly at Louis’ shoulder to cut him off, mumbling, “I just can’t believe how much I love you. Dunno what I’m gonna do with it all when-”

 

Louis shakes his head quickly, a warning to Harry.

 

“I’ve been writing some advice and such to help you with that. You’ll see. You’ll be okay, Haz, I pinky promise.”

 

Harry is unable to fight a smile, reaching his pinky up towards Louis’ own like they did back when they were just teenagers thrown into a band, wrapping it around the older boy’s smaller one before placing one more excessively long kiss to his lips.

 

He’s well aware of the boy’s exhaustion after what just happened, so he instructs him to  _ get some sleep, love _ , waiting for him to doze off before forcing himself to his feet and heading to the kitchen.

Harry calls each of the boys to give them a set time to show up halfway through his surprise! birthday cooking, and they’re all relieved to know Louis is well enough for them to see him today. They don’t know how they would’ve survived the holidays without seeing him, and, Harry doesn’t know how he will starting next year.

 

Louis stumbles down the stairs after a few hours with a sleepy smile and Harry’s socks, hoodie, which reached halfway down his bottom, and his own black leggings, knowing he’d be teased by Zayn for wearing those so carelessly at his age.

 

“Happy birthday, love,” Harry smiled, dropping the tube of icing beside the others on the place with the multi-layered confetti cake. “Dunno if you’ll be well enough to eat this, but, I was still hoping it’d make you happy.”

 

Louis hopped onto the kitchen island, with Harry’s help, sweater paws planted firmly on the marbled top as he watched Harry intently, admiring his culinary skills for the billionth time as if it were the first.

 

“You make me happy, silly,” Louis grins, cupping the sides of Harry’s curls as the boy positions himself between his open legs, staring up. “You make me so fucking happy and that’s way more than enough, okay?”

 

And Harry nods, burying his face in the mess of love bites from earlier and giggling for no apparent reason, really, dimples prominent and happiness radiating inside him.

 

Because, fuck, Harry really loves Louis.

\---------------

The boys show up just before sunset with sacks of gifts thrown over each of their shoulders, like the first Christmas they ever had together and Louis would jump into each of their arms if he had the strength.

 

“Happy birthday, Lou.”

 

Liam’s in first, wrapping the boy in the gentlest hug he possibly can and grinning when Louis hugs back much tighter.

 

“Merry Christmas, Li,” He whispers, knowing he may not be well enough in the morning to tell him that. Liam ruffles the boy’s hair with a comment about how he needs a trim before reluctantly giving Niall his turn.

 

Niall drops his pack of presents onto the ground without a second thought, crushing Louis in a hug and inhaling deeply and just admiring the presence of the funniest, brightest person he’s ever known. Harry sometimes wonder if Niall loves Louis more than him.

 

Louis is giggling and hugging Niall back, spinning them in a circle once and praying he doesn’t grow nauseous and exhausted from it.

 

He’s lucky enough, though, and his second favorite boy in the world his clutching him tightly seconds later. 

 

Louis is giggling like a child when the tan boy tugs him up from the ground, wrapping his legs around the lanky boy’s waist and squeezing his eyes shut with laughter as Zayn carries him nonchalantly over to Harry, who is sat happily on the couch beside the other two.

 

The black-haired boy sets him carefully into the youngest one’s lap, dropping onto his knees in front of them with a cheeky grin and Louis can’t remember the last time he was so happy.

 

“You’re my best friend in the whole wide world,” He sighs, happiness personified at the pure smile Louis responds with. “But don’t tell Gigi, yeah?”

 

Louis nods obediently, chewing on his gums and unsure how to respond to this surplus of love and joy that he’s drowning in, fiddling with Harry’s slender fingers nervously. Harry kisses his temple as a reassurance that he doesn’t need to feel overwhelmed.

 

They play Fifa and eat cake and tease each other like old time, Louis constantly repositioning himself in Harry’s lap and laughing loudly and never feeling guilty or embarrassed when the other boys have to help him remember a word or two. 

 

It’s eventually the middle of the night and Christmas, so Gigi and Liam and Niall’s girls show up, heading to the guest bedroom after kisses from their boyfriends because they understand how important this boy time is for the group. 

 

Louis reflects on how perfect all their lives have become, and uses all his mental strength to push away the question of how envious Harry must secretly be.

 

Eventually, they’re all struck with swollen eye bags and slurred speech, but Louis ignores his own drowsiness, assuring Harry constantly that he’s okay. And, he is, for now, which is what matters, even though he knows he won’t be tomorrow.

 

The house is dim and the tree lights across the room are bright and, just, Christmassy, and concentrating on that feeling makes Louis feel  _ so  _ okay. 

 

He’s sniffly and his throat is more sore than he thinks it has ever been, but Harry’s holding him tight as he’s curled in his lap, and the boy’s are all focusing their sleep deprived minds on making him happy, and that makes all the pain and migraines worth it.

 

Eventually, it’s daybreak and time for present because, as much as Louis denies it, it’s clear that he won’t be physically capable of keeping his eyes open much longer. They exchange overly expensive gifts and laughs and memories and banter like old times, Louis contributing as much as he can to each conversation.

 

Harry was kind enough to sign each of his own presents with both of their names, so Louis was still able to feel included in not only receiving gifts. He kisses Harry’s cheek a billion times within an hour, completely smiley and giggly and blushing.

 

And everyone is patient and loving through the entire night, and Louis can’t understand what he did to deserve such a perfect family.

 

It’s eventually time for bed, though, and everyone can tell that Louis will probably faint if they don’t turn out the rest of the lights and rest. Liam, Niall, and Zayn each head to one of the many guest bedrooms, assumedly bunking with each other to feel like brothers again. Louis and Harry are left on the couch, assuring them they’ll head up to their own room in a bit.

 

Louis has leaned his head sleepily against Harry’s shoulder, though, still curled in his lap, and it’s clear that neither one of them intend to move anytime soon. Harry is absolutely okay with it.

 

If Harry could stay here and hold Louis close while humming a range of holiday songs to him, he would. This is the definition of serenity to him.

 

“M’sorry I didn’t get you anything,” Louis mumbles, voice hardly louder than a whisper and lips inches from Harry’s jaw. “I wish I was well enough to find you something that somehow expressed how much I love you. Which is, like, a lot, you know.”

 

Harry smiled, brushing the fringe out of the boy’s swollen eyes, shaking his head. 

 

“S’okay, love,” Harry nodded, inhaling deeply. “You’re here with me and that’s all I’ll ever need, yeah? You’re all I’ll ever fucking need, angel.”

 

Louis nodded in understanding, sniffling and trying to push away his cynical thoughts about the currently unspoken inevitability. He hopes Harry can find something else of substance slightly soon after he’s gone.

 

“But, I got you something, Lou.”

 

Louis swallows quickly, sitting up and cocking his head at Harry, curious. The other boys had thrown away all the boxes and wrapping paper, so where could Harry be hiding it?

 

The younger boy smiled, dimples prominent, reluctantly releasing Louis from his arms and tugging at the hem of his jumper. He pulls it over his head with ease, cheekbones heating at the way Louis is staring at him, mouth parted and face flushed.

 

He shakes his head with a grin, grabbing the boy’s forefinger and bringing it up to his chest, to a marking just above his 17BLACK ink. Louis inhales a small, shaky gasp at the sight of the new tattoo, and Harry wonders if he’s ever heard a purer sound in his life.

 

It’s a doodle of angel wings, with a plus sign between them and Louis first and last initials. The older boy feels tears brimming in seconds, tugging his bottom lip under his teeth and choking back a sob.

 

“Thought it was time for another one in honor of my pretty pretty prince,” Harry whispers, wiping away the water droplets under Louis’ eyes with the pad of his thumb. Louis nods eagerly in appreciation, unsure how to construct words to express his gratitude. 

 

Harry chuckles a bit, sniffling at the same time and biting back a smile. He’s in awe of Louis’ beauty for the billionth time, and he’s still unsure how to hide it.

 

Louis wraps his arms around Harry in a moment of desperation, clutching the boy firmly and shaking with sobs into his shoulder, wiping his tears on the boy’s bare skin and not even bothering apologizing for it. He just loves Harry _ so _ fuckng much.

 

Harry understands these are, mostly, happy tears, hugging him back tighter and smoothing over the back of his unkempt mess of hair, inhaling and exhaling heavily and, just, _ taking in  _ the existence of Louis like it’s the last time ever.

 

He can’t help but wonder if it _ is _ the last time ever, truthfully.

\---------------

Louis tries his hardest when he wakes up on Christmas afternoon, but, he doesn’t prevail as much as he would’ve liked to. 

 

He manages to make it down stairs to the living room before nearly collapsing onto the floor, Zayn grabbing hold of his waist seconds before he falls forward and pulling him back.

 

Harry’s gone out with Liam for some bakery breakfast after nearly an hour of protest, the kind boy assuring Harry that Louis will be fine if he happens to wake up in the forty minutes they’re gone. Harry’s clearly reluctant, but, gives in.

 

Zayn wearily helps the ill boy onto the comfy cushions beside him, smiling when Louis curls against him, sleepy eyed and head resting against his bony shoulder. He begins a nonchalant convo with the dazed boy, trying to gauge just how out of it he was feeling.

 

Louis nods along with a surprising amount of ease, mumbling the best responses he could force out while his thumb and forefinger fumbled with the flanneled pajama pants covering his friend’s thighs. Zayn chuckled at his silly comments, brushing through the boy’s hair and trying his hardest to keep him calm without Harry.

 

“Where’s Haz?” Louis questioned, frowning and glancing around the room, only finding Niall in the floor with his back against the couch, eyes glued to the Christmas movie on television. Zayn reassured the boy that Harry would be back in no time, but Louis is still skeptical.

 

Louis shook his head in dismay, frustrated that Harry had left him on Christmas morning and his migraine was intruding on his favorite day of the year and he can’t seem to place his finger on any phrase to convey his irritation. 

 

Zayn remains attentive and patient, offering suitable words whenever Louis stumbled on one. Which, happened to be quite frequently, but Zayn loved Louis, and he didn’t mind at all.

 

They sat cuddling on the couch, Louis droning on and on about memories with Harry and things he adored about Harry and Harry, Harry, Harry. 

 

Zayn finds it quite sweet, to tell you the truth, so he never objects or teases him, only encouraging him to continue and smiling at the enticing way Louis has always seemed to phrase simple things.

 

“You want some tea?” Niall offered, glancing up at the relaxed pair fumbling with each other’s hair and clothing and mumbling meaningless shit that they would probably both forget before tomorrow. He smiled at the sight. 

 

“No,” Louis whispered, free hand clutching Zayn’s forearm. “Just want Harry, N-”

 

Louis inhaled slowly, blinking once, twice, three times, attempting to remain calm like Harry had taught him to. Still, he couldn’t make out the blonde boy’s name.

 

Zayn and Niall exchanged quick, worrisome glances.

 

“Ni...”

 

Louis stared at him intently, but totally blanked. His heart split itself into, half dropping into his stomach and the other half climbing up his throat. Tears stung his eyes and streamed down his face and his migraine seemed to worsen, because it was  _ happening _ .

 

He was forgetting people’s names now, people he loved with so much of his heart, which meant Harry or Zayn or Liam or his sisters or mum could be next, and that terrified him. 

 

It was an unnecessary reminder that his brain was crumbling into nothingness and his heartbeat would soon cease to exist, and so he’s burying his face in Zayn’s lap and sobbing and mumbling how sorry he is over and over, while the other two boys stare, unsure what to say.

 

This was Harry’s thing.

 

They felt so fucking helpless, their own tears brimming as they watched everyone’s favorite boy break down in shaky sobs and everyone in the room thinks about how  _ Louis is fucking dying, for real. Like this is  _ **_actually_ ** _ happening. _

 

Zayn, eventually, passes absolute shock and focuses on calming Louis, wrapping one arm tightly around the boy and using the other to brush through his hair as he cried. 

 

Niall hurried over, dropping onto his knees in front of the boy like Zayn had the day before, hushing him repeatedly and assuring him that no one was upset with him while rubbing circles on his back.

 

The doorknob was jingling seconds later, keys slapping the outside of the wood, Louis crying harder and harder as he realized Harry was going to find him in a pathetic position for the thousandth time in the past few months.

 

The curly-haired boy dropped the bag of goods on the floor, smile dissipating into complete concern before he scooped up Louis in his arms and carried the boy to the recliner across the room, kissing his temple a hundred times during the walk over. Louis sniffled and gasped for shaky breathes, clutching Harry’s neck while Liam watched the scene in utter confusion, awkwardly holding muffins and juice.

 

“Don’t wanna forget,” Louis mumbled into Harry’s neck, over and over, practically begging as if Harry had any control over this. “Don’t wanna forget, Hazza. I’m forgetting everything and everyone and it’s happening so suddenly and I don’t wanna forget y-”

 

Harry buried his face in Louis hair, shushing the boy quickly and rocking him back and forth in the chair until he stopped sobbing, clutching him tightly and assuring him that this was only his paranoid anxiety.

 

Louis tried _ so hard _ to listen intently to Harry’s reassurances, but his migraine and sleep deprivation and heartache and overall sickness made it incredibly difficult so focus on anything but the dozens of dull stabbings all over his body.

 

Eventually, Harry understood that this wasn’t going to get better with a few kisses and sweet nothings, so, he carried Louis back upstairs, tucking him in on the futon in the sunroom so he could stare at the world that felt like it was engulfing the house, courtesy of the curved ceiling.

 

He turned to leave after a kiss to Louis’ forehead, understanding that this one of those times where Louis wanted to be alone, but Louis grabbed his wrist seconds after he had turned around.

 

“Stay,” Louis pleaded, eyes still glued to the cloudy sky above him and the trees that carved a frame around them. “Need you to stay, Hazza. Please.”

 

Harry allowed a single droplet of liquid to stream down his face before nodding, turning back towards the terminal boy and dropping onto his knees beside him, guiding Louis fingers from his wrist to his own hand.

 

He intertwined their fingers firmly, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of the older boy’s palm soothingly, never saying a word but understanding so much about each other through the next hour.

 

Harry watched Louis intently, saw the way his eyelids fluttered a few times before dropping closed completely, stared at the way his chest rise and fell peacefully and slowly and rhythmically, mouth parted and hardly audible snores slipping out.

 

And, as Harry whispers, “I love you, angel,” with a soft kiss to the boy’s temple before releasing his hand and resuming the company of the boys downstairs, he can’t help but wonder how soon he’ll see Louis fall into unconsciousness like that for the last time.

\---------------

New Years seems as if it will come and go in a small whimper, at first, Louis sleeping through the majority of the day with Harry’s thighs pillowing his lap, their TV on as they binge watch Dawson’s Creek and their bedroom silent, either of their phones on Do Not Disturb.

 

Harry’s afraid he’ll miss something that happens to Louis if he leaves to do anything except piss or grab a quick snack, so he doesn’t move unless absolutely necessary. Louis absentmindedly fumbles with Harry’s slenders fingers through the whole day, twitching his own whenever he would suddenly awaken, apologizing to Harry for falling asleep again before drifting back into unconsciousness.

 

Harry really didn’t mind all that much, though.

 

Slightly disappointed, but patient and understanding and just grateful Louis had made it this far. Grateful he could say Louis had made it to another year.

 

He wakes Louis roughly a minute before the ball drop, reminding the boy that he needed to stay hydrated, helping him chug some water until halfway through the countdown. Louis smiled softly, pushing away the water and staring up at Harry, blissful.

 

“Ten, nine, eight.”

 

The television was quiet, because Harry was worried volume might disturb Louis’ rest.

 

“Seven, six, five.”

 

Louis propped himself onto his elbows, corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly, sliding his tongue over his chapped lips, nearly smirking.

 

“Four, three, two.”

 

As the tv chanted in the background, Harry leaned forward, biting back a grin and water bottle still topless in one hand. He was using his other to hold his weight up, palm firmly planted on the mattress.

 

“One! Happy new year!”

 

In a moment of desperation, Louis gathered the strength to cup Harry’s cheek, pulling himself further upwards and turning so his legs were open against Harry’s abdomen. Their lips moved messily and in sync, tongues daring, but gentle. Harry was amazed that Louis had somehow located the ability and will to move like this.

 

His tiny hands moved down to the dips just above Harry’s hips, clutching them as he sat still on his knees, legs still open and ass planted in Harry’s lap. 

 

The younger boy tried to adapt to the unexpected makeout session, holding the water bottle as carefully as possible while his arms and free hand found their places on the back of Louis.

 

Louis pulled away first, panting for air, resting his forehead against Harry’s curly-fringe and bringing his hands back up to either side of Harry’s face, gently cupping it. Harry stared intently into the strong boy’s pale blue eyes, mouth parted in disbelief and stomach genuinely warm with joy.

 

“Just…” 

 

Louis was losing more and more words every day, it seemed. 

 

And, the ones he did remember took much longer to process into real, literate thoughts of his mind.

 

“Love you so.” He finished, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling the scent of his sweet, loving, absolute fucking gem of a soulmate.

 

Harry nodded in agreement, burying his face in the boy’s shoulder and clutching him tightly, bottle remaining in his grasp. His free hand gripped the limited amount of flesh that sculpted Louis’ shoulder, and he gulped heavily at the reminder of how much more and more ill the boy was becoming.

 

“Happy New Year, angel,” Harry whispered, sniffling, chest tight.

 

“Thank you so fucking much for everything you’ve given me and taught me and impacted me and, just, everything you are, Louis. My pretty little Lou.”

\-----------------------

_ We should be happy _

_ That’s what I said from the start _ .

 

January flies by in a mess of hospital visits and pain-killing prescriptions and shaky sobs and anxiety and terrifying, utter chaos. 

 

Louis seems to be flying away with the time.

 

Things don’t really start calming down until the twentieth, but, that scares Harry more than anything, truth be told. Louis is quieter than ever and there’s obviously something he’s not admitting, but Harry knows so much better than to press him right now.

 

Louis has been so fucking strong lately, amazing everyone around him and bringing smiles and inspiration.

 

And, the fans know, which brings a mess off heartbreak and crying and tributes and organized events to help the public in Louis’ honor. He just thought they had a right, no matter how much disagreement he was faced with. 

 

As long as he had Harry’s support, he felt strong enough for anything. 

 

And, truthfully, he was sure he had Harry’s support, regardless of the situation. Which is probably what made him think he was invincible all these years. But, boy, was he wrong about that.

 

On the twenty-seventh, a very, very, important day to the pair, Louis stumbles out of the bathroom with his phone clutched tightly in his hand, face flushed and eyes wide.

 

“I did something...um...bad,” Louis whispered, nodding along and searching for the words. “T-twitter. Tweet at the…”

 

Harry stares back intently, head cocked in curiosity, motioning for Louis to come closer as he’s sat on the side of the bed, legs open. The older boy shuffles over, still holding his phone to his chest with both hands, allowing Harry to grip either side of his frail hips as he stares at their feet.

 

“Tweet at the...top of - pinned? I think?” 

 

Harry nods in understand, soft smile to see Louis’ face light up when he realizes he found the right words. “Yes, baby, that’s what it’s called. What about your pinned tweet?”

 

Louis opens his mouth to explain one, two, three times without success, shaking his head in frustration before giving in, sliding his thumb across his phone screen and holding it up to Harry’s eyes.

 

Pinned to the top of his profile is the AIMH tweet, and, just below it, Louis has retweeted the declaration of love itself, green arrows bright and surprising Harry. He never thought Louis wanted to come out, because they’d always agreed it was best to keep the homophobia to a minimum by ignoring rumors and giving in to management.

 

“Louis…”

 

The older boy sniffled with a shrug, unable to meet Harry’s eyes and unsure if the boy was disappointed in him. He shouldn’t have done this, he’s sure of it now.

 

“You’re the greatest boy in the whole wide world,” Harry smiles, standing up and engulfing the tiny boy in a hug. “And, I’m so fucking glad everyone will now know that you’re mine.”

 

Louis nodded, beaming against Harry’s strong chest, nose buried in the exact place of the ink the younger boy had revealed to him on Christmas Eve.

 

“All yours,” Louis whispered, a simple sentence with so much meaning, hardly more than a muffled sound against Harry. “All yours and only yours forever and ever and ever.”

 

Harry smiled bigger, dimples prominent even though he knew rather than forever and ever and ever, they probably had a month at most - and that’s looking at it optimistically.

 

As soon as Louis has released Harry and stumbled onto the mattress, Harry’s grabbing his phone from his back pocket, sliding the screen and quickly typing his password. He taps Twitter immediately, not allowing himself time to think this through.

 

Before he knows it, he’s opened a new tweet, and typed, “my first real crush was...louis tomlinson.” He knows exactly which references make the fans go the craziest, because, it’s not like the boys are oblivious to the media. 

 

He bites his bottom lip, eyes flicking back and forth from his phone to the sleepy boy with the unkempt hair who is already falling asleep.

 

He smiles softly at the sight, before refreshing the tweet to see all the replies freaking out, fans typing paragraphs in all caps filled with “I knew it”s, or, “this is clearly a hack, guys,” or, Harry’s favorite, the intelligent ones connecting Louis’ recent with his own.

 

He grins again, scrolling through the mixed-feelinged mania until he finds the exact tweet he’s waiting for someone to reply with. 

 

“Louis Tomlinson? And how does he feel about you?” tweeted @kingofadeedas, the username making Harry chuckle to himself as he remembered all the times he teased Louis for his inability to correctly pronounce Adidas.

 

Harry tapped the reply button before he could stop himself, typing, “mutual, we’ve discussed it...” and attached his unseen lockscreen to the text. It’s a picture of him and Louis at the top of a playground slide from fall 2015, with Louis’ hair blowing backwards as he’s leaning in and kissing Harry’s cheek, sweater paws keeping him planted on the slide along with the toes of his black and white Vans. 

 

Harry remembered that moment with such fondness that it made his heart feel as if it were swelling.

 

Which, was a reminder that Louis’ brain probably felt like it was, quite literally, swelling against his skull, so he powered off his phone and chucked it across the room, not caring about management or promo or the media or anything except his angel.

 

He climbed into bed behind him, knees against the back of the smaller boy’s thighs and arm wrapping protectively around Louis’ tummy. He buried his face in the back of the boy’s warm neck, kissing the top of his spine before allowing himself to drift into a world of temporary unconsciousness with his favorite boy for one of the last times.

\----------------------

_ For the rest of my days. _

 

It’s January thirty-first and Harry is  _ so  _ far from ready to let go, but Louis is  _ so _ clearly exhausted. And it’s understandable, but, it’s also terrifying for the both of them.

 

Louis would be gone so soon, and there’s just no easy way to cope with something so fucking life altering. 

 

The tiny boy can’t eat or drink or remember almost anything, spending every hour possible clutching Harry likes he’s scared of what will happen when he lets go. 

 

Harry spends every second possible with his eyes glued to the pretty boy, making note of every detail possible and biting back whimpers when he notices how sickly the boy’s eyes are.

 

He just looks so ill, so worn, so in need of rest despite the fact that he sleeps a good twenty-hours per day. The worst part of it all is that Louis is still beautiful to Harry, so aesthetically enticing and physically magnetic that Harry will never be able to stop staring.

 

But, neither of them want Harry to remember Louis like this.

 

“Tomorrow…” Louis whispers, expression blank and head resting on Harry’s chest, ear pressed against his heart to listen to the rhythmic, calming beat. “You...twenty four, right?”

 

Harry smiled softly, brushing Louis’ mess of wavy hair out of his eyes, bringing with it the strands sticking to his cheeks. 

 

“That’s right, angel. Tomorrow’s my twenty-fourth birthday,” He nodded, moving his hand from Louis’ hair to his back. “Gonna wake up with you beside me, and that’s all I want. All I need, really.”

 

Louis feels the corners of his mouth turn upwards slightly, tightening his arm around Harry’s stomach, sighing.

 

“Still wish I could, um,” Louis squints his eyes at the wall, inhaling deeply and racking his brain in search of the word. “Uh, presents, Haz. Wish I had gotten some. Or one.”

 

Harry plants his lips against the apologetic boy’s head, rubbing circles over his back and appreciating the peaceful nature of the day. Everything felt okay the past two days, for the first time in ages.

 

“You’re my gift, silly. The greatest boy in the whole wide world is still with me. It would be selfish for me to ask for anything else.”

 

Louis nods to signal he understands, reaching past Harry for the pile of remaining cough drops, fiddling with the crinkly wrapper before dropping one into his mouth. He yawned, frowned, glanced up at Harry for a quick kiss, and grinned when Harry smiled and commented on the cherry taste of his lips.

 

The younger boy forced himself to his feet, hurrying over to the opposite side of the bed to flip the duvet over Louis, leaning in for a kiss to his temple before walking away.

  
“I’ve gotta go for a wee, love. Be right back.”

 

Louis smiles softly at Harry to convey his understanding, reaching a tiny hand out of the covers to wave at the lanky boy, a gentle and sweet gesture that makes Harry’s stomach warm.

 

The older boy stares at the wall, lonely, for a lot longer than he should, migraine worsening and eyes growing more and more tired as he waits for Harry. Soon, however, he hears the boy’s voice, clear as day and not speaking to him.

 

“He’s - you know how it is, Li. They told us this would happen and how it would progress and there’s just, like-” Harry pauses, and Louis swears he can hear him crying. “No, obviously not, not nearly. Dunno how I’m supposed to wake up every fucking morning-”

 

Harry pauses again, and Louis hears him slide down to the floor, back against the door and he’s still crying. Fuck.

 

“He’s Louis, y’know? Like he’s the greatest thing that could happen to anyone and now he’s being taken away and that’s shouldn’t, like, be allowed to happen. What kinda world is supposed to exist without Lou?” 

 

The broken boy laughs lightly, a pathetic, weak laugh that breaks Louis’ heart and he’s really wishing Harry had never gone for that fucking piss.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I got you. It’s, like, what are the planets going to revolve around if the Sun is gone, y’know?” He hears Harry sniffle before continuing. 

 

“Yeah, I mean, I think m’okay. He’s trying his hardest and I just wish he could truly rest but, at the same, selfish time, I never want him to let go of me. Like, when he’s clutching onto me, I want him to keep holding me and keep mumbling hardly coherent thoughts against my skin. And, just, like, I dunno, really. Don’t ever want him to let go, metaphorically and literally, but I know he’s gotta. He deserves to untense and just breathe and sleep and not hurt so badly.”

 

Louis doesn’t realize he’s sobbing silently into their overpriced pillow for the first thirty seconds or so.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I know it’s coming, I know I gotta let it happen, I know he’s-” 

 

Louis is shaking right now and he just needs Harry so fucking badly.

 

“No, m’not ready. I’ll never be fucking ready, I think that’s pretty obvious. The light of my life is just gonna kinda dissipate into a flicker and then immediately into a hollow nothingness. I just don’t wanna miss it, I think.” 

 

Harry sniffles again, and Louis bites into the cough drop to keep a whimper from slipping out, the hard candy hurting his teeth and jaw, but, the pressure relieves his ringing migraine a bit.

 

“Yeah, of course, I’ll tell him. I love you too, Li. Thanks for checking in and all - Louis is so fucking lucky to have you guys-” One more pause, and a genuine laugh from Harry that makes Louis’ chest flutter. 

 

“Yeah, you’re right, we’re a lot luckier to have him. It’s been an immense blessing just to have him for this long, really. M’so fucking grateful.”

 

Louis listens to Harry tell Liam bye once more and thank him for the happy birthday wishes before running the faucet, water splashing against his assumedly blotchy face before he twists the door handle. 

 

He finds Louis swollen-eyed and tear soaked, and he’s never felt so guilty.

 

“Oh my fuck, sweetheart,” He coos, hurrying over and engulfing the boy in a loving embrace. “I thought you’d be asleep. M’so fucking sorry you had to-”

 

Louis begs Harry to just  _ stop talking about it, Hazza _ , clutching the younger boy like he usually did and burying his face in the warmth of his broad shoulder. 

 

The thing is, somehow, deep down, Louis knows he’ll be gone soon.

 

Like, so soon, so fucking soon that he’s terrified to let go of Harry. Terrified to sleep and never wake up again, terrified to not have his proper goodbye with Harry, terrified to miss out on so so much that he knows he has to miss out on.

 

He doesn’t have a fucking choice, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair at all and Louis stomach is nauseous and for the first time he doesn’t think it’s from the cancer.

 

But, tomorrow’s Harry’s birthday, so there’s no time for sadness.

 

Right?

\---------------

_ You're all of my days. _

 

It ends on a rainy sunday, which, Louis hates, because, what a fucking cliche.

 

But, fuck, Louis really loves Harry.

 

That’s what he’s thinking as he sits still, leaning against the headboard and eyes glued to Harry,  whose face buried in their ridiculously expensive pillow, toned back and mess of curls facing Louis.

 

He’s not sure why or how he’s awake before Harry, for once, but, he’s really glad he is. He’s not sure he’ll ever see a beautiful sight like this again. There’s something about the way the grey lighting illuminates Harry’s skin, back, and curls that makes him smile.

 

Thunder cracks against the sky, causing Louis to flinch and hug his knees.

 

He wants to wake Harry, wants the love of his life to hold him and distract him and kiss him until he’s calm through one last thunderstorm, but it’s Harry’s birthday. And, Louis already feels selfish enough that Harry’s forced to take care of his, y’know, terminal cancer issue.

 

Louis fiddles with the beads of his bracelet, one Harry bought him in Paris last year. Louis had missed his flight and was stranded at the L.A. airport, disappointed and pouty and in desperate need of his boyfriend. 

 

They’d facetimed and Louis might have cried a bit, but his baby’s smile and thumbs up had made it a little better.

 

Harry showed up fourteen hours later before Louis could even board the next flight, sprinting from baggage claim and surprising him with a fancy black box. They’d been engaged for years, so Louis was a bit confused, at first. Harry then revealed to him a brown, beaded bracelet, like one you’d seen on a surfer.

 

In the middle was a little gem in Louis’ birthstone color, with an H engraved.

 

“So I can be with you wherever you are,” He had grinned, like the sappy fuck he is before pressing his lips against the shorter boy’s, not even bothering to glance around him to check for paps or fans. “And, y’know, it matches your eyes, love.”

 

Yeah.

 

They had some A1 sex that night.

 

Louis sniffled to himself, still fiddling with the beads and reminiscing over all the silly memories like that one, heart heavy and chest tight. 

 

He wished he could remember more of them. 

 

He glanced at Harry once more, inhaling a shaky breath and biting into his bottom lip. Something was _ wrong _ , and it just didn’t  _ feel _ like anxiety over the thunderstorm. He leaned over, reluctantly tapping Harry’s shoulder until he heard him breathe in deeply, stretching his arm and turning over, concerned.

 

“What’s wrong, love?” He whispered, grabbing Louis’ dainty wrist before he could retract it. Louis frowned, shaking his head. His heart was in his throat.

 

“Happy, um, uh, birthday,” He mumbled, sinking down onto the mattress, head collapsing against the ridiculously expensive pillow that was a part of way too many memories. Harry gulped, hand still clutching Louis’ wrist.

 

The older boy blinked his heavy eyelids a few times, trying to keep his gaze focused on Harry’s pretty face and fight whatever was trying to pull him into unconsciousness.

 

“Baby, wh-”

 

Louis shook his head, quickly, eyes screwed shut like he was fighting someone mentally, still turning his head as Harry watched, heart heavy.  _ This was it, wasn’t it? _

 

“Louis, please-”

 

The pretty boy with the blue eyes whimpered, eyes suddenly wide and he was panting for air, tears streaming down his cheeks and eyes searching Harry’s face, desperately, like he was silently begging him for help. Harry understood what was happening, mouth falling open but the younger boy possessed no strength to force any kind of response out.

 

“Haz-” Louis whispered, voice barely above hoarseness and eyes bloodshot as his face blotched. “Love you. Love you so much.”

 

Harry nodded, leaning in to kiss Louis’ temple as a nonverbal agreement before sitting up, tugging Louis closer against him and wrapping his arms tightly around the petrified boy. The scariest part was that Louis was ready. 

 

He didn’t think he would be, and it all came so suddenly, but he realized he was. He was ready to stop constantly gathering strength he didn’t know he even had left to keep fighting off his own body. Ready for Harry to stop worrying and stressing and trying his best to prolong the procrastination of something inevitable.

 

But Louis didn’t think he was ready to let go of one of the last things he could even remember, so he clutched Harry tightly until he felt his weak muscles relaxing - and he wasn’t sure it was even against his will, to be honest.

 

Harry was sobbing silently as he pressed his lips softly against Louis’ own, staring into the beautiful boy’s pale blue eyes and thick eyelashes as he cradled the boy’s cheek with his free hand.

 

He kept his forehead against the smaller boy’s long after their lips lingered inches apart. It was the most intense, silent,  _ I love you  _ since the very first time they admitted it to each other.

 

Louis was pondering over how insanely fucking grateful he was to have spent with Harry the years that he did, to have known what genuine, true love felt like and to have experienced thousands of things that most people don’t even have the chance to experience the half of in their entire lives.

 

He was unbelievably fucking appreciative and thankful to have been lucky enough to know and love and been with the person he believed to be the greatest human being on the planet, and that was the one thing that had made all this pain and heartache worthwhile. 

 

The younger boy didn’t know what to feel, really, only knowing that Louis was his soulmate and the greatest thing that ever happened to him and it was only mere minutes before the angel’s heart stopped beating forever.

 

Louis pulled away from Harry’s warm palm, tucking himself tightly against Harry’s chest, where he felt safest and warmest and the most okay.  _ Where he felt at home. _ Harry instinctively went to brush over Louis’ mess of soft hair, running his fingers through it and smoothing it over as he stared at the wall for ages and ages.

 

Eventually, he felt his love’s body go limp against him and his exponentially slower and slower heavy breaths die down into nothingness, almost serene silence.

 

Harry exhaled deeply, untensing, for what felt like the first time in nearly a year, as he whispered, “Thank you for everything, angel.”


End file.
